The Nutcracker
by insubordinationfreak
Summary: Season 10. After a collection of thumbs is found in a freezer, Goren and Eames must interrogate the suspect. Bobby contemplates pistachios, The Shining, and margaritas as he attempts to get his mojo back. No romance, but a little G&E s10 evolving.


**The Nutcracker**

** Major Case: One Police Plaza**

It is undeniable that there are always a few 'dead' pistachio nuts left over. The the ones that are left till last because their shells are firmly closed, thwarting the mission of devouring the lot. Well, this time there were two whole, sealed pistachios among the shells. They had refused to crack open even under duress. Robert or Bobby or the newly reinstated Detective Goren sat at his work desk contemplating the last two nuts in the bottom of the bag he had just finished. The three names he sometimes went by were appropriate because, with all the head-shrinking, he still wasn't quite sure who the hell he was. Having dedicated himself to clean leaving, he was eschewing all vices: sugar, gnocchi, sex, pills, alcohol, self-pity and Parmesan. As a result, his desk had suddenly become inhabited by almonds, sunflower seeds and green apples in a concerted attempt to exchange one habit for another. This new development had not gone unnoticed by Eames, who had cheekily put a pack of dried goji berries in his top drawer. When he found them, he understood that she was showing her approval at his attempt to get well, but wouldn't allow herself to get too motherly about the whole thing. The berries were a reference to one of their old cases where a monomaniacal father with a grudge had fed his replacement son on the 'super' fruit, so he could keep robust enough to shoot judges. Now, they were two nuts.

So the pistachios had a little salt, not good for his blood pressure granted, but life could be salty. He removed the two dead nuts and put them on the top of the desk in front of him and contemplated them intently. He was oblivious to his colleagues, a number of whom were, at that very moment, staring at him out of the corners of their eyes wondering just how many nuts there actually were in the bullpen that day.

It was notable that one of the rogue nuts had a discolored stain on its shell, probably caused by heat. Still, the entire surface was sealed tightly shut. He turned his attention to the other one and picked it up. He shook it and felt movement from within. There was a little give indicating that a little life was inside there yet. He closed his eyes and rotated it deftly between his index finger and thumb to better focus on the sense of touch. He felt an anomaly and opened one eye. There was a stress fracture along one of its seams. Although almost invisible, it was definitely there. He was not yet defeated. He picked up the other marred nut and brought it to meet its counterpart. Lining them up with the vulnerable spot just so, he pushed the two pistachios together until he heard a satisfying crack. They both broke open and he let the green covered nuts roll onto the desk. Just then Eames approached and threw one into her mouth.

"Solved another case, have we?" she chewed. He followed suit and crunched up the other one with a lop-sided smile.

"I'm not dead yet," he thought.

"I've got something you might like to take a look at," she said as she dumped a cell-phone in front of him, "Look at the calendar." He picked it up and scrolled through the menu and quickly noticed that the past few months were marked with a small red triangle. Clicking on one of them, and then another and another, he noticed that all had the same variation of a notation. KrowPeels, Crow Peels, Krowpeels Krow peals, CROWPEeLS, CROWpeels. Alex knew she was going to lose him for the next little while until he deciphered it.

The phone belonged to a suspect, who was currently sitting in the interrogation room. Although a collection of severed human thumbs had been found in his freezer that morning, he denied knowing anything about them. His claim was that he had only just moved in to the furnished apartment and that the freezer had come with it. He attributed the frozen thumbs to a previous tenant and insisted that he hadn't even noticed the container sitting at the back of his freezer when he had first moved in. Since the electricity had never been cut off between tenants, he claimed he had never smelled them nor had anything else give him cause to examine the contents.

That morning, his landlord, who was thinking of commandeering the freezer since his own had broken, had gone into his tenant's apartment while he was at work and found a morbid prize of four frozen thumbs in a Tupperware container. Some of the thumbs were nicely manicured, indicating female owners. He immediately called the cops to report the frozen extremities and here sat the suspect, at major case, mumbling about how he had to get back to work. So far his story had checked out and there was still no justification for placing him under arrest.

There was no evidence of any kind on the container, on the thumbs, or in the rest of his apartment to connect the suspect to the crime. Preliminary tests on the thumbprints indicated that there were at least four victims and that one right thumb had been collected from each. Only one victim's print could be identified from the police database. It turned out to be a single-mother of a three-year-old child who had been reported missing three months earlier. Her arrest record was purely traffic related. Her body hadn't turned up and the family was left waiting for news. Beyond living in the same city, the suspect had no traceable connection with the victim. Goren and Eames were desperate to get a breakthrough and their boss, Joseph Hannah, made it clear that they had to get a confession or some additional evidence in the next 12 hours, or he'd have to be released.

Frustrating the newly reunited partners was the fact that there must be three other people out there missing a thumb. It wasn't even clear whether these victims were dead or alive. Despite several other detectives being assigned the case, no significant crimes or bodies involving missing thumbs could be found found. The clock was ticking and the pressure was on. They could not risk releasing a serial killer back onto the streets for lack of evidence.

Although the suspect, Joseph Reyner, hadn't lawyered up, he had stonewalled their every attempt at interrogation. They tried together and separately, to show empathy, anger, motherly nurturing and threats. None of their interrogation techniques had proved effective. A pencil pusher at a finance company, the suspect was forty-two years old with a graying beard, which only seemed to make his buckteeth more prominent. He had an odd gait, which seemed to slightly favor one side of his body. A search of his apartment revealed an angry loner type with a penchant for Stephen King novels. His bookshelves, which Goren pounced on, seemed to contain just about everything the horror writer had ever penned. A background check frustratingly contained no priors. He had no siblings, girlfriend or living parents. His mother had died of ovarian cancer several years earlier and his birth certificate revealed that his father had also died due to complications from a stroke. When questioned, the perp explained that he hadn't seen his father since he was three years old and that was just about the only piece of useful information he had given them. Goren knew from the moment their eyes met that he was guilty. He just needed something to get into the guy's mind.

Goren and Eames sat at their desks searching for more material. Eames piped up,

"You keep thumbing through his books and I'll search online for any Stephen King references to this 'Crow Peels' thing. He's entered it a hundred times in his calendar; it's gotta mean something.

Goren nodded lightly, wondering if her 'thumbing' reference had been deliberate. No matter, he was used to her one-line zingers. He mused at how much easier his job was now with the unrelenting advances in technology. Instead of heading out to the library, which he missed a great deal, they more often than not searched online databases.

He and Eames spent the next few hours reading, analysing and comparing every paragraph which mentioned crows, ravens, thumbs or peels. Frustratingly, these seemed to be common occurrences in King's novels. In _Misery_, an obsessed fan had cut off her idol's thumb and put it in a birthday cake and in _The Stand_ an evil crow flitted about bringing ill-omens and communicating messages. It was obviously based on Edgar Allen Poe's _The Raven_, which Goren did not need to revisit, having committed that poem to memory.

The answers had to be here somewhere. Goren and Eames had solved quite a few cases this way, by poring over books and items that the suspect was fixated with. Goren's mind ticked away. At times like these, his intellect was detached from his body and his thoughts were floating outside in some other realm. He re-read the passage from _The Stand _. Chapter 51 looked particularly well-worn and had clearly been read more frequently than the rest of the book. It told of a lonely judge who listens to a crow who does not speak wisdom, but has been taught _"by some unhappy master."_

"An unhappy master, he has an unhappy master," whispered Goren, contemplating who the suspect's unhappy master might be. It was probably true that he hadn't known his father and had been domineered by his mother. His warped overbite seemed to indicate that he had had a prolonged childhood habit of sucking his thumb. Goren's reverie was interrupted by his partner who walked towards him and dropped a manila folder on his desk. He hadn't even noticed when exactly she left the room.

" Check this out, his medical records show that he was admitted to hospital when he was ten years old. He lost his right big toe in an accident. His toe, that's why he walks the way he does. He's missing a toe. Cut toes, cut thumbs, there's gotta be a connection," she finished.

A glazed deep look came over Bobby's eyes and he lifted his palm to his cheek, rubbing the temple with his index and middle fingers, as though trying to increase the blood flow to his brain. He always got that look when he had an epiphany. In such moments, Eames knew that cases were solved.

"A palindrome", he said to Eames.

She didn't flinch at his seeming lack of cohesion and played along "OK, a palindrome is word that is the same spelled backwards, right?"

"Yes, it can be read in either direction. Have you read _The Shining_? he looked across at her. _The Shining_ was one of Stephen King's most famous novels.

"Had a search of it today but turned up little. I've seen the movie though, _Heeere's Johnny_!"

Bobby continued talking, not even registering her Jack Nicholson moment, "Do you remember the scene where the boy writes 'red rum' with lipstick on the door and he is holding that giant knife and as he approaches his mother, you see the word 'redrum' reflected in the mirror?"

A flash of recognition went over Eames' face. If 'redrum' was 'murder' spelled backwards, that meant that notation found on his cell-phone, KrowPeels…

"Krow Peels, it's 'work sleep'. That's what he was writing over and over."

Goren was already up and striding towards the interrogation room. She followed closely behind him, knowing what was coming.

**Interrogation Room**

Goren sat down opposite the suspect in the gray room while Eames shut the door and stood herself in the corner. The male detective regarded the man in front of him for just a little longer than both comfort and social etiquette deemed appropriate. Joe cast his eyes on the table in an attempt to avoid the screaming pause, until two words made him look up.

"Red rum." What is that spelled backwards?"

"Murder, " replied Joe with a touch of surprise.

Goren banged his fist on the table with fury and raised his voice while pointing his finger far to close to his face. "You murdered those women. I _know_ that you did it Joseph, or is it Joe or Joey?" He wanted to call him by the right name.

" It's Joe but no, not murdered. I didn't kill 'em," he said grimly, meeting he the detective's eyes.

"I saw your cell phone Joe, Krow Peels."

Joe looked up and nodded keeping his lips firmly closed. This was a habit he had developed to detract attention from his protruding front teeth. The huge detective had finally caught his attention. What did he know about it? The smaller female detective, who had tried to talk to him like a mother, was still dead to him for now. Although he was aware of her presence in the corner of the room, someone else had his interest.

"Krow Peels, Krow Peels, Work sleep, work sleep, work sleep, work sleep. That was your routine, wasn't it Joe? You worked double shifts, went home and slept to stop the tick tick ticking in your brain. The tap tap tapping of your crow; your unhappy master.

Joe wondered how the man, standing there in his blue shirt, knew. He just _did_.

"But it didn't stop, did it Joe? The tapping. It didn't stop even after your mother died. Even though you worked, and slept and worked. You couldn't stop the tapping and rapping. What did she say Joe, your mother? Goren stood up and came around next to Joe. He got behind his chair and tilted down to get into Joe's personal space, closer to his face. Joe could feel unfamiliar breath on his neck and was compelled to look at the detective's shiny gold tie clip. Joe's eyes followed the burgundy tie up and up until he was gazing upon the countenance of a man who could see into his soul, where nobody had ever looked.

Joe shook his head from side to side, clutching his hands. "No! The tapping didn't stop no matter how hard I worked."

Goren slammed his fist down on the table. He viciously separated the suspect's intertwined hands, extended one of Joe's thumbs and shoved it in the killer's mouth, holding it there firmly.

"Your unhappy master, your mother _couldn't stand_ it, could she? It's your thumb, isn't it? You suck your thumb. Didn't your mommy try to make you stop?

He looked up in panic as the tree trunk-like detective held onto his hand with a strong grip. Joe couldn't talk and every time he tried to inhale, he sucked harder on his thumb. Goren suddenly released his grip and Joe whipped the thumb out of his mouth in shame. He hadn't sucked it since he was ten years old.

Goren continued a little more quietly, but still with a touch of menace in his eyes and voice. "Your father left you when you were just a boy. He left you alone with her. You didn't know what to do when she hurt you, so you sucked your thumb for comfort. You couldn't stop, could you Joe? Goren raised his eyebrows in enquiry, "No matter how bad you wanted to stop, it was your master. You made your mouth deformed. I mean just_ look_ at your teeth!" Goren looked up at Eames for confirmation and she craned her head forward and regarded them with mock disgust.

"If I had a child who sucked their thumb, why I'd punish them to make them stop. It's a filthy habit," she commented.

" Did she punish you Joe? You ruined your mouth with your PATHETIC, NEEDY, CHILDISH, THUMBSUCKING. What did your mother do to try to stop you, so that she wasn't HUMILIATED when she took you to the dentist. You made your mother look like she had spawned a, a hick. She was... _ashamed_ of her little yokel Joey who _still sucked his thumb_ at the age of _ten_. The boy who had _driven_ his father away," said Goren with disdain.

"He didn't leave because of me," spat back Joey. He left because of her. I know he did."

"And you sucked on your thumb because you missed him. She didn't like that, did she?"

"She wanted me to stop", stuttered Joe in acknowledgement, sneaking a peak at Eames who, catching his look, asked her own question in a clucking motherly voice.

"But you couldn't stop, could you? Not until after you came back from the hospital. What happened Joe? Why did you stop doing it?"

Joe looked away and refused to answer until he was suddenly aware his chair slowly being pulled back. His world was sliding. He looked up into the now suddenly sympathetic eyes of the big detective; the one who knew the truth. The father he had never known.

"Take off your shoe Joe. Show me why you walk with that limp. Show me what she did to you," he asked softly. At the sound of his sympathetic tone, Joe suddenly felt tired. It had been a long day.

"How did she reprimand you Joe? How did she punish her poor frightened boy?" Joe could not break their mutual gaze. The detective really cared. He really wanted to know how he had been hurt. They were kindred spirits.

Joe bent down and removed his shoe and sock. At the sight of his deficient foot, he crumbled and squeaked out the words he had never dared to tell anyone; a secret he had longed to tell. His voice sounded like a ten year old child, "She cut off my toe; she c-cut off my big toe".

"Why did she do it Joe? Did she cut your toe from your poor foot to stop you sucking your thumb?"

"She put it in my mouth! She said I was dirty and naughty and stupid. She cut off my big toe and made me suck it. After I got back from the hospital, she said it was in the freezer. She said I had to suck that ice toe it every time she caught me sucking my thumb. I never sucked it again. I never wanted that toe in my mouth again.

Goren put one hand on Joe's shoulder. "But you still needed to suck your thumb, didn't you Joe? All these years you've needed to. WorkSleepWorkSleep tap tap tap. Her beak was still in your heart. You still had that need. You couldn't forgive her. You had to take a stand.

"I waited and waited and she got sick and died. She died. I thought everything would be OK."

"But it wasn't OK, was it Joe? You still had that compulsion to suck your thumb. Goren's speed of speech increased. What did you do Joe, what did you do to get back at her? When work and sleep couldn't cut it anymore; when the urge kept tapping and rapping on your chamber door. You had to take a stand, didn't you? He lowered his voice and looked directly into the suspect's eyes with a sudden flash of kindness as though he yearned to understand. How did you take your stand?"

Joe looked up at Goren and saw the look in his eyes and trusted him, "Why, I cut off her thumb of course. I cut it off. I cut it off again and again and again."

Goren nodded, as though it made sense, "How Joe? How? Did you use a knife?"

"I hid it in my coat. The mothers at the park, they told their kids not to do it, not to suck their thumbs. They slapped their little boys and girls on the wrists. They said it was dirty and naughty. I followed them and I waited. I cut off the thumbs of those mothers, and then I cut their necks. I had to. Those little boys and girls, they didn't want to lose their toes. They don't want to suck big icy toes from the freezer. I was saving them. I had to.

"Yeah Joe, I know you had to do it," He said with a sigh. "And you kept their thumbs, didn't you Joe? "

"I did. I kept them in the freezer."

Goren walked around the table and back to his chair and sat down and looked at Joe, who still had one confession yet to make. The detective took his time. He slid down the knot of his tie and loosened the top button of his blue collar while Joe waited.

Goren finally spoke, "I understand why you had to do it. I really do. She hurt you in a way that mothers never should. Mothers should love their sons, but there's one thing I don't understand," Goren looked puzzled and paused.

"What?" asked Joe. He really craved to be understood.

"Where did you put their mommies, after you had saved those kids?"

"Oh, that's easy. I put them in the cornfields, in the cornfields to be eaten by crows. He looked up at the detective as though satisfied with his solution. Goren returned his gaze as though he perfectly understood the logic coming from this desolate human being, who was now actually smiling at him with his protruding teeth.

**The Bar**

Later that evening, when some of the tragic details had been ironed out, Bobby took Eames to a bar. She was sipping on a margarita and he had virgin version. They toasted to commemorate the thumbless dead mothers, whose bodies would probably be found by the morning. After identification, the families would have answers that they desperately needed, but wouldn't really want to hear. Sometimes, it did not feel satisfying to close a case.

"So what do you think will happen to him, is he insane?" asked Eames.

The DA had already intimated at an unwillingness to take the death penalty off the table, even though a guilty plea was almost certain. No guilty by reason of insanity was a distinct possibility too. Lately Goren, despite his mission of 'a dogged, unrelenting quest of the pursuit of evil', was uncomfortable with harsh punishments in the cases where the perpetrators had suffered extreme abuse as children. However, he also knew the grief and destruction that this man had caused to innocent families and was glad that he and Eames may have prevented even more deaths. There were young children that were now trying to grow up without their mothers, never understanding why. Now was not the time to debate Joe's possible fate with his partner. Part of his path back to detective was that he had to compartmentalize; to let the cases go when he was off the clock.

What do you think will happen to him?" repeated Alex. She was used to repeating everything at least a few times and the case had got to her as much as it had to him. Brought back to reality, he looked over at her, contemplating. She expected an answer and Bobby realized that Poe himself might be able to analyze Joe a little better anyway, and he quoted:

"And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting  
>On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;<br>And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,  
>And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;<br>And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor  
>Shall be lifted - nevermore!"<p>

With that, Goren let go of the day's events knowing that he would get back to the case in the morning. He did not want to share Joe's destiny of a soul doomed for eternity. It had been slowly dawning on him that fate and circumstance didn't necessarily dictate his life. Alex had told him several years prior that all his wounds were self-inflicted, and Dr. Gyson was helping him to see that a part of his darkness was of his own making. His thoughts and actions played as important a role as his genes and random events.

There should be more to life than just work and sleep after all. It was difficult for Bobby to sustain the notion that he was a fortunate man. His head had felt like weighty scrambled eggs for so long and he was just now noticing that the sluggish sensation was subsiding, and he didn't dare breathe less it come back. From his therapy sessions, he realized how lucky he was to be working with Alex again and, even more importantly, to have her as a friend. After all, they were not only partners in crime; they were family. He looked into her dark eyes that he knew so well and appreciated that she didn't feel the need to comment on his quote. She simply understood him. He lifted his glass to her and she raised hers in response. Their glasses clinked with no words to accompany the sound. They just sat together in the bar, breathing.


End file.
